The Composer's Advice
“Go ahead then, Harpo. Tell me about Little Miss Sunshine.” Vinyl crossed her hooves. “What gives her the right to reject my apology?”
Harpo took a calming breath. “She didn’t reject your apology.”
“Oh, so she just didn’t let me say I’m sorry? That’s completely different!” A sarcastic smile adorned Vinyl’s face. “I guess I should go not apologize for thinking that I needed to apologize for saying something stupid.”
“Vinyl, Octavia does not need an apology; she needs time to her herself. Let it go, wait until tomorrow. She’ll have calmed down by then.”
The DJ flopped unceremoniously onto a couch. “Yeah, but I won’t.”
A few moments passed in silence. Harpo sighed lightly. “Why does it bother you so much?”
“Common courtesy,” replied Vinyl gruffly.
“We both know that you don’t believe in common courtesy. You don’t believe in any kind of courtesy, actually.”
Vinyl scowled. “You sayin’ that I ain’t nice?”
A Manehatten accent, Harpo noticed. That wasn’t there a few minutes ago. “No Vinyl, you’ve done some rather kind things. You just do it at rather unexpected times.”
The unicorn looked up, blowing out a steady stream of air. “Unexpected. Yeah, right.”
Harpo raised an eyebrow. “Something you’d care to share with the rest of the class?”
Vinyl was silent.
Harpo picked up a cup of cold coffee. He took a sip, finding that the coffee was nearly good enough to drink cold. Nearly. He put the cup back down, looking intently at Vinyl Scratch.
The mare glanced at him as sharply as she could from behind reflective purple lenses. “Are you really gonna wait until I start talking?”
The composer shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”
“Well, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’!” Vinyl re-crossed her hooves.
That accent’s back. Harpo smiled. “I’m willing to bet that I have more patience than you do.”
The DJ didn’t respond, opting instead to draw her hooves even tighter together.
The composer picked up his coffee, sipping it lightly. I wonder how long this will take. He maintained eye contact with Vinyl, an amused glint in his eyes.
The DJ frowned and defiantly stared back. They stayed this way for some time, Harpo’s serene and unfaltering gaze meeting Vinyl’s shades.
What the buck does he want from me? thought Vinyl. I don’t have to explain myself; it’s pretty damn obvious why I’m upset! I was tired and I said something stupid, something that probably—that definitely—hurt Tavi.
Worst part is that I never even explained myself! I just came across as a shallow critic. ‘You didn’t play that well. I am not going to tell you how to make it better, but just know that your music is bad.’ Dear Celestia, I sounded like one of them. Vinyl shivered. I promised that I would never, ever let that happen. And Harpo is still staring at me!
“What do you want?!” shouted Vinyl suddenly.
Harpo jumped, snapped out of his own thoughts by Vinyl’s exclamation. Well, I was imagining a well-made dandelion salad before you interrupted… I’m hungry. “I’d like you to talk to me, Vinyl,” he said aloud.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Vinyl insisted hesitantly. “Nothing important anyway.”
“Forgive me for doubting that.”
Vinyl sighed and took off her glasses. She stared down at the floor, absent-mindedly playing with her shades. “It’s nothing.”
Harpo’s expression softened slightly. “My father has a saying he was rather fond of, ‘Nothings are somethings that have become too big to acknowledge.’ It annoyed me to no end when he said it.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Vinyl.
“Exactly what it says; my father is not the kind of pony who wastes words. It means that every time something gets out of hoof we try to find ways to make it seem smaller than it is. We downplay it until it comes out as ‘nothing,’ when it would be so much better to admit to it.” Harpo leaned forward slightly. “Care to share your ‘nothing?’”
The DJ sighed again and looked up. Harpo gave a slight start but said nothing as his eyes met with Vinyl’s crimson irises.
“Harpo, how often have you two, you and Octy, actually messed up?”
The composer chuckled. “We’ve done some rather stupid thi—“
“No,” said Vinyl. “How often have you done something wrong musically? How many times has someone called you out for writing something bad?”
Harpo frowned slightly. This is a serious Vinyl; I’ve never seen a serious Vinyl. “You can’t please everypony.”
The unicorn seemed to slump slightly. “And what happens when you can’t please anypony?”
Harpo blinked. “I—I’m afraid that I don’t quite understand.”
Vinyl gave a cynical huff. “I figured. You two are geniuses, right?” A note of bitterness crept into her voice. “It’s easy for you. Everypony knows who you are. ‘That was a great concert.’ That’s what nearly every pony says when they see you two.”
The composer blinked again. “Vinyl,” he offered hesitantly, “that was a special case. We’d been preparing for that concert for nearly a year; it was our final performance! We poured everything we had into it; Octavia ran herself ragged, I stayed up for countless nights trying to fit in just the right notes!”
Vinyl snorted. “That doesn’t mean anything. At least not to some ponies.”
Harpo stayed quiet, not entirely sure where Vinyl’s sudden bitterness had sprung from. It probably came from ‘nothing,’ he silently mused.
A few moments passed.
“I’m sorry Harpo,” said the DJ quietly. “None of that was for you or Octy.”
“I figured. Although we’d be glad to keep the part about being ‘geniuses.’” Harpo tried for a grin.
Vinyl gave a kind of half-smile in return.
“Now,” continued Harpo. “Would you care to explain whom exactly receives your enmity?”
The half-smile dropped, instantly replaced by a scowl. “A group of fucking idiots,” she said savagely.
“Language, Vinyl, I’m still a colt at heart!” Harpo glanced from side to side, then leaned in conspiratorially, “What ‘fucking idiots’ exactly?”
“The kind of idiots who judged my music without even listening to it! The ponies who heard ‘DJ’ and immediately decided that I was some kind of drug-addicted slut who ‘couldn’t possibly understand what music was’!”
Harpo frowned. “Critics,” he spat out vehemently.
Vinyl gave a disapproving grunt. “Not critics. A critic actually criticizes, a critic tells you what’s wrong with what you’re doing, a critic points out flaws and gives ya a chance to get rid of those flaws, a critic‘ll tell ya how tah improve your work!” The DJ was breathing heavily, her voice steadily rising as she spoke. “Those assholes didn’t do nothin’ like that! All they did was make sure that I wouldn’t get a good gig or any way to make some actual money.” Vinyl paused.
Harpo took his moment. “And so you moved out of Manehatten?” he asked.
“How’d ya know I came outta Manehatten?”
The composer raised an eyebrow. “Lucky guess,” he deadpanned.
Vinyl softly brought her hoof to her forehead. “Right, accent. It just kinda comes out every once in a while. And no, I left Manehatten for… for a different reason.”
There was a decided note of pain in Vinyl’s voice. Harpo decided not to follow that line of questioning.
There were a few beats of awkward silence.
“So,” said Vinyl, “that explains why I wanted Octy to accept my apology. I don’t want to be like one of the assholes.”
“That would be crappy,” added Harpo with a smirk. He blinked and looked around. “Octavia would have beaten me for that one. There’s no satisfaction in a pun if there isn’t a reaction.”
Vinyl punched him on the arm. “Better?”
The composer winced, rubbing at his developing bruise. “Painfully so.” Punfully so, in fact, he added mentally. “And what about you? Feel any better?”
The DJ considered it for a moment. “A little… I think.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to answer a previous question you had and possibly embitter you in the process.” Harpo held Vinyl’s eyes. “Just hear me out, okay?”
Vinyl nodded.
The composer took a deep breath. “You asked how often Octavia and I make mistakes. Musical mistakes, to be exact. I have to say that we don’t do it very often. Octavia’s ‘practice’ is really more of a ‘polish,’ and improvement rather than actually figuring out how to play. There are very few pieces that she can’t play after a few minutes of study.” The composer smirked again. “I’m proud to say that those ‘very few’ are my pieces. It’s a testament to my ability as a composer that I can write music that nopony can play.”
The DJ shook her head, a slightly sad smile on her face. Harpo held up a hoof, preempting any comments.
“And that ability,” continued Harpo, “means that I can never ever rest. There were hundreds of other students, many of whom I have never met, hoping to see me make a mistake. It comes with success.
“In other words, we’ve lived through different musical careers but we’ve each gone through our own challenges and arrived at this point. Now we have to work together; You, Octavia, and I will be facing the same challenges in the future even if what we’ve been through its fundamentally different. Which is rather wonderful as it means that we can draw from our separate experiences, from what we know, and smash all of that together into something. Hopefully it will be something good, but it might be something terrible.” Harpo hesitated for a few moments. “Did that make any sense? I feel like that made sense, but it might have been completely non-sense-making.”
Vinyl nodded. “Yeah, it made sense. A lot of sense actually.” She chuckled slightly. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I take offense at that! I am a very profound and troubled pony and I will be treated as such!” Harpo gave a snooty huff and turned his head.
The DJ rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
The two shared a smile, and silence fell back onto the room.
Vinyl was the first to speak. “Hey, Harpo? How am I supposed to make it up to Tavi?”
Harpo nearly facehoofed. “Are you still upset over that? Just go see her in the morning or something. Be serious, try not to be stubborn, don’t lose your temper, and explain why you feel that you need to apologize. And then maybe kiss her and become fillyfriends or something; it would save me the effort of ‘playing Cupid.’”
Vinyl laughed, the first real laugh she had had since Octavia left. “Harpo, I know that you’re looking forward to that. You wouldn’t shut up about the ‘plans’ that you had for setting up a date for me and Octy!”
“Well of course! Imagine you and Octavia as a couple! Octavia would have no idea what was happening most of the time and you wouldn’t care about what was happening! I mean, you two are complete opposites. It would be hilarious!”
The two laughed. Vinyl had to stifle a massive yawn as she did so.
Harpo glanced at the clock. “Is it that late already?” He jumped off the couch, wincing slightly as his legs unfolded. “I refuse to miss another day of sleep to something like work. Come on Vinyl, I’ll see you home.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Vinyl from behind another yawn. “I’ve stayed up longer that this before.”
“Oh, shut up. You have an apology to deliver, and a sleep-deprived you would say something stupid again. And then we’d be back at square one and I’d have to be serious! Do you know how much I hate being serious?” Harpo asked seriously.
Vinyl gave a sheepish grin. “How much?”
“I absolutely loathe it. Now let’s go, double-time!”
The mare chuckled slightly, bringing a hoof to her forehead in a kind of salute. “Aye aye, Sergeant.”
Harpo glanced at Vinyl. “Yes, ‘Sergeant,’” he said with a smile. “One last serious word of advice Vinyl; I hope that you’re not too tired to remember it.”
The DJ shook her head.
“Be firm,” continued the composer. “Do not, for any fraction of a second, believe that you are not good enough to question your musicians.” He turned back to the doorway. “You felt that there was something wrong with the way Octavia was playing. You should have stopped her and said something. Get your point across. Shout if you have to.
You think that Octavia and I are ‘geniuses.’ Well, from this point on you have to prove that we’re not.” Harpo smirked slightly. “Is that clear, Private?”
A soft snore was Vinyl’s response.
The composer turned, immediately noticing a curled-up ball of white fur. He scowled slightly. I try to look cool and play the part of the ‘experienced mentor’ and I don’t even have an audience! He walked over to a conveniently placed blanket. That was probably the most heart-felt speech I have given to date, and those last few lines! I should have won an award for those last few lines. He threw the blanket over Vinyl, taking a moment to smile at the sleeping form of his friend.
Harpo walked to the door, flicking off the lights and assuring that the entrance was locked. Honestly, the nerve of some ponies.
The door shut softly behind him.
***
Trans Script sat at a corner table in one of the most highly acclaimed restaurants in Canterlot. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, glittering from the hundreds of candles they held, waiters stepped quietly from table to table asking dignified questions, receiving dignified answers, and maintaining a dignified air as they relayed each order to a group of slightly flushed, yet highly dignified, cooks.
Trans tugged at her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles.
She felt decidedly out of place, sure that everypony in the restaurant had turned to stare at her when she had first walked in and claimed that she had a reservation. This, of course, was not true.
Some of the posh ponies were in the posh restroom, and were thus unable to stare at the light brown mare in her slightly wrinkled green dress.
The mare had simply stared at the menu for what seemed like hours, trying to decipher how exactly a squiggle over a vowel changed a word’s pronunciation.
In the end, she had asked the waiter for more bread.
Trans Script stared down at the empty bread bowl. Why did I show up so early? Ten minutes was way too much time. Or maybe the ten minutes have already passed? She hopefully looked up at a nearby clock. Exactly three minutes had passed since she stepped foot into the restaurant. Well, buck me.
The mare drummed a hoof against the table absent-mindedly. She leafed through the menu again, focusing on the images this time. Maybe if I pointed at one, the waiter could take the hint. Her head softly thumped against the table. I should have gone in to work.
Why am I even here? Just because somepony like him approached me, asking to meet at one of the fanciest restaurants in Equestria. Then again, it’s a nice way to make some quick cash. And Celestia knows that I can always go with a few extra bits. And if anyone has a few extra bits, it’s definitely—
“May I suggest the dandelion salad? It’s a rather nice dish, and maintains its taste, even when taken to go,” said a distinguished voice from above the mare’s head.
Trans Script looked up, expecting to see a waiter of some description. Instead, she found herself looking into the eyes of her employer. “Fancy Pants! Wha-What are you doing here?”
Fancy Pants raised an eyebrow. “Eating, Miss Script. Although Fleur and I,” Trans Script caught a glimpse of pink speaking to another table, “were just leaving before I caught a glimpse of you. Meeting somepony?” The unicorn kept a casual lilt to his voice as he spoke.
“Y-Yeah, but he’s not here yet,” said Trans Script nervously. “Sorry for not going in today. It’s kind of important.”
“No matter,” said Fancy Pants with a smile. “I assume that you got the Doctor to cover for you?”
“Yes, sir.” The mare silently breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well, I’m afraid that I have to take my leave. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Script. Have a nice evening.” Fancy Pants gave a final smile and turned to the entrance.
He stopped by Fleur, joining in on her conversation with the ease befitting a pony of his status.
Trans Script glanced at the clock. Why is time suddenly moving? Stop, time, stop!
Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis finished their conversation. They moved towards the exit.
The minute hand moved with a tick.
Keep going, keep going! thought Trans Script.
The couple was hailed by another well-off pony. They entered another conversation.
Damn it!
The minute hand moved with a tick.
Fleur maneuvered out of the conversation, excusing both herself and her husband. They were back on course.
They reached the doorway.
Fancy Pants raised his hoof.
The minute hand moved with a thunk.
The door opened, forcing Fancy Pants to take a step back. Through the doors walked a dark grey Earth Pony with purple aviator sunglasses. He walked with a certain self-entitlement, but hesitated the slightest bit when he saw Fancy Pants.
And then Hoity Toity stopped altogether. “Good evening Fancy Pants, Fleur de Lis. Did you have an enjoyable meal?”
Fancy Pants nodded, a smile painted onto his face. “Quite, the dandelion salad you recommended was as delightful as always, wasn’t it dear?”
Fleur de Lis made no effort to smile, but remained polite. “Indeed, it was wonderful. Are you here on business or pleasure, Mr. Toity?”
“Business is my pleasure, Miss de Lis,” said Hoity Toity with a guffaw.
The married couple put on their polite smiles.
“But I would hate to keep you,” continued the Earth Pony. “It was very nice seeing you again.”
Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis exchanged their final pleasantries and walked out of the restaurant. Hoity Toity continued on to his seat at a brusque pace.
He sat across from Trans Script exactly ten minutes after the mare had arrived.
“Good evening, Miss Script,” he said. “Shall we get to business?”
Trans Script nodded, feeling undignified when compared to the immaculate Earth Pony.
“Now,” continued Hoity Toity, “my proposition is a rather simple one. I simply want to kn—“
“Good evening, may I take your order?” A mint-green unicorn raised a quill and a notepad in her magic, experiencing a slight sense of déjà vu.
Trans Script looked at Hoity Toity.
Hoity Toity looked at the waitress.
The waitress tried to give a confident smile.
Hoity Toity sighed. “Nothing for me,” he said with a note of impatience. “A dandelion salad for my associate. That will be all.” He turned back to Trans Script.
The waitress trotted back to the kitchens. Why do they keep sending me to serve this guy? I’m gonna file a complaint.
“As I was saying,” said Hoity Toity, “I simply want to know what the three musicians are working on. I want… information on them. Their interior dynamics, how well they play, their disputes, their weaknesses, where they will play, when they will play, and anything else that you can think of. A relatively simple task, don’t you think?”
Trans Script didn’t react, preoccupied with the implications of what Hoity Toity wanted.
The Earth Pony nodded his head slowly. “‘Yes,’ is what I want to hear, my dear. Unless you feel that you are not up to the task? In which case, I would simply have to go elsewhere and you would never hear from me again. Nor will you receive the compensation I am willing to offer.”
“No!” said Trans Script quickly. “I want to help.”
Hoity Toity smiled. “Thank you darling. I’m sure that your help will be of the greatest assistance.” He stood up, dropping a large amount of bits onto the table. “Use this to pay for your meal. Keep anything that’s left over for yourself. I will pay you in accordance with the information that you provide.” He tilted his head slightly. “Is that fine?”
Trans Script nodded.
“Wonderful! I’m sure that this will be a mutually beneficial partnership.” Hoity Toity took Trans Script’s hoof in his own. “Thank you for accepting my proposition.” And with that, the Earth Pony took his leave, leaving a slightly distraught Trans Script behind.
The salad was served.
Trans Script ate, not actually tasting her meal as she did so. She finished rather quickly and paid her check. She glanced down, counting the exuberant amount of bits she still had. The mare left the restaurant in a daze.
A few minutes later, Lyra Heartstrings was counting her tip. It was easily one of the largest she had ever received. Okay, maybe I won’t complain.
She collected the plates, wiping down the table for good measure. But as soon as I get the chance, I am getting the buck out of this job.
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Don't do it Trans Script, Hoity is a bastard!
I seriously NEED to know about Vinyl's past now. You've given me a taster, now I'm ready for a feeding frenzy.
Hmm, Hoity sure is a weasel.
A new chapter of Syncopation is the best birthday present I've ever got.
"but it made have been completely non-sense-making." ... What happened? There are a couple of other, more minor, typos and grammos, but that's so unlike you! Your chapters are always (as good as) flawless!
Hum... Drama! Spicy. That's a new step for you. It's getting somewhere quick.
Loved what you'll be doing with the comments. I want pictures!
Yeah... As if the meeting between Fancy Pants & Hoity didn't prove the earth pony's asshole-ish personality, this sure did.
You can't sink lower than when you get to the point of espionage and sabotage
That's just plain pathetic and shows that he didn't want Harpo & Octavia because it would be mutually beneficial for him and Fancy, but because he was scared of the prospect of the two biggest geniuses combined with a successful DJ working together.
Summary: Hoity Toity is a pathetic coward.
Well, I imagine Fancy Pants didn't see himself being sold out by an employee......
MR Pants needs to give Lyra a job!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Betrayel of the highest order in progress. did not expect that
A betrayal most foul! There shall be retribution in the future!
Great chapter!
oh Hoity…… you jerk. now I know why I like Photo more than you
An excellent development as usual. Hoity, you snake and I hope Vinyl and Octy make up in the next chapter. A rift between them could be disastrous, but dramatic. So, maybe they shouldn't make up, but what what do I know.
Keep up the good work and I await your new chapter.
YAY LYRA!
Burn that traitor and fine what ever she holds dear and burn it too
2628552 Hoity is a dirty bastard
YES! We finally get to see the eyes! Splendid chapter. I can't wait to hear more about Vinyl's past, because that is one of my favorite things to read about; the origins of a pony and their past.
~SolidFire
So, Vinyl's from Manehattan. That's interesting. Never seen that before.
And it's become clear Hoity Toity is the villain of this story.
Ahhhhh, Vinyl's eyes are red~ and she's from Manehatten? That... is very interesting... very much so.
Wheee~ Its Lyra! :D I hope she joins.
I'll be a happy mofo if she does.
nice job again!
Ahhhhh, Vinyl's eyes are red~ and she's from Manehatten? That... is very interesting... very much so.
Wheee~ Its Lyra! :D I hope she joins.
I'll be a happy mofo if she does.
nice job again!
The little romance so far is great build up. the Shipshelf approves. This story is a octa-scratch great, on par with Stages and Some Nights You Make It.
Lyra, tell the gang what you saw....now.